


you've fermented in my bones

by CallicoKitten



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Flash Fic, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:26:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8150620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: "On your knees," Elliot says. His voice is husky, rough at the edges. A different kind of roughness, not spread thin and cracking and disused, heated and sharp and heavy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> idk tbh
> 
>  
> 
> to be clear, this is elliot's mr robot personality doing the dirty with tyrell rather than elliot himself

"On your knees," Elliot says. His voice is husky, rough at the edges. A different kind of roughness, not spread thin and cracking and disused, heated and sharp and _heavy_.

Tyrell knows it's not the kind of voice he should ignore. Not that he would.

This is Tyrell's favourite Elliot. The Elliot that barks orders and smirks. The Elliot that masterminded a plan to take down the world in a handful of months. The Elliot that's smart, so fucking smart, beyond Tyrell's comprehension, writes code and sees around problems that Tyrell could spend an age on and never get through.

The Elliot that shines like broken glass in the sun, or the edge of a knife or the glassy eyes of -

He drops to his knees, easy. The floor is filthy. His trousers cost more than his childhood home in Sweden, they'll be ruined. He'll buy new ones. A new shirt and jacket to match them.

Elliot looks down at him. "Well?" he drawls.

Elliot's eyes slide shut when Tyrell swallows down his length. He tangles his fingers in Tyrell's hair, he's not gentle, he rakes his blunt nails against Tyrell's scalp, twists and tugs and _fuck,_ Tyrell would let him pull his hair out by the roots if he wanted.

Elliot yanks Tyrell's head back when he's getting close - Tyrell can tell by the way his breath is hitching, by the way he murmurs under his breath, to soft for Tyrell to make out. He finishes in spurts across Tyrell's face, across his chest.

Tyrell's achingly hard but Elliot won't touch him, has never touched him.

Elliot exhales, eyes still closed. He's beautiful like this, Tyrell thinks, loose and uncoiled, startlingly clear. His eyes slit open and he gazes down at Tyrell, the smirk in the curl of his mouth matched by the smirk in his eyes, like Tyrell is simply a cog in this great game of his, like Tyrell is playing right into his hands.

Like Tyrell is an insect to be crushed under his heel.

 If anyone else looked at him like that, Tyrell would have destroyed them.

Elliot bends slightly, winds a hand through Tyrell's hair and yanks his head back to kiss him. Tyrell lets his eyes slide shut. Gives himself over to it.

This, he thinks, _this_ is how he'd choose to die. On his knees, Elliot's tongue down his throat. Joanna would be _ashamed._ But if Elliot raised the pistol he keeps in the waistband of his jeans when he's like this, if Elliot took that gun and pressed it to Tyrell's temple, Tyrell would die a happy man.

But there is no pistol, there is no bullet to send Tyrell's brains splattering across the filthy warehouse floor, there is only Elliot pulling away and Tyrell blinking up at him, mouth hanging open, dazed and wanting.

Elliot grins, "Come on, we've got work to do."


End file.
